


Case #102

by TricksAndKicks



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, I’ll update tags as I go on, Original Character(s), Torture, kind of winging it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:43:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28591959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TricksAndKicks/pseuds/TricksAndKicks
Summary: “...Believe it or not Hancock I’m actually doing just  fine. So while the social call is appreciated its hardly necessary. And besides...” Nora waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not the only one with two lifetimes worth of detective work under my belt. What does Valentine have to say about this missing person?”“About that uh...” the ghoul trailed off uncertainly, deciding to drop the casual humor as he sighed through his nose and set the bottle back down on her desk. “Valentine hasn’t been seen in four months.”Nora held his gaze for a few silent seconds, her mouth opening slightly and closing before she finally spoke. “... Wait… it’s Nick?”The quiet response was met with a somber nod and he folded his arms and leaned against the wall. His dark gaze was focused down now. “Yeah... I’m gonna need your help on this Nora.”———————————————————————A new Vault opens up, and at the worst time in Valentines long career. A voice in his head tells him that troubles on the horizon, and oddly enough that voice sounds a lot like an old dead mercenary.
Relationships: Nick Valentine/Original Female Character(s)





	Case #102

Chapter 1

•  
Old beginnings

The wastes of the Commonwealth were not kind this hot day. Nor were they kind once the sweltering heat of the sun dissipated, the light dimming into an orange rosy colored sky for a few pleasant moments before the blanket of darkness suddenly fell. Unlike the unpredictable expanse of land outside the green jewel of the Commonwealth, Diamond city didn’t fall completely silent with the night. Out in the wastes the silence could be deafening. Maybe it was an instinct within any creature that held even the smallest amount of awareness to keep a low profile. Or maybe it was that same instinct that forced the ear to hone in on any sound that could pose a threat, thus deafening anything else. Probably both.

The Synth Detectives steady pace had come to a stop just in the outskirts of town, along a quiet road that cut into the desolate line of crumbling prewar buildings. A sight for any sore eye making their way towards that last semblance of civilization for miles. He stood there a moment, hands resting still at his sides in his pockets, listening. He gazed up at the night sky, yellow optics flicking from one twinkling star to the next. The sky was more vivid than memories told him, the individual dots almost vibrant with life as they flickered. It was quite a sight compared to what little memory he could access of the sky before the war. A feeling akin to guilt crept up slowly. It almost felt wrong with all the of death and destruction to appreciate that maybe _some_ good things came out of the total collapse of civilization. It was hard to argue with the view though. As long as one kept their eyes cast towards the sky. Sadly though, a clear view of the desolate crumbling structures was necessary as he pushed on.

It was easy to note the stark contrast in surroundings as he walked through the gates of the city, walking slowly toward the common homes above the shops. Not only by sight. There was always a soft blanket of noise, even when the city went to sleep at night, tucked away in their small steel homes.

The crackle of a lit fire. The whir of the handybots tending to shops open in the late hours. Even the occasional scrape of a rusted spoon over a noodle bowl. A quiet hum of neon signs rose and faded as the synth Detective walked past the shops, bright red and blue lights falling onto his worn coat. The brim of his hat cast a sharp shadow into his face that further illuminated his eyes in the darkness, making his appearance unmistakable to any passerby; one or two guards offering a nod or acknowledging grunt as they patrolled the pathways of the city. His trek brought him to a rusted steel door. Yellow eyes caught the sliver of light under the frame. It wasn’t surprising the family couldn’t sleep.

Metal fingers formed into a loose fist and he knocked gently. Three times, as promised. There was a shuffle inside and the door opened ever so slightly, just enough for an eye to peak past the chain as it had done only five days prior. The familiar face of the middle aged woman he was met with was far more fatigued than it was then.

The case had been rough from the beginning. It wasn’t uncommon for many missing persons events to have a similar M.O. Always people driven by high emotions or strong intentions. In this city it wasn’t uncommon to have similar cases. A bored or depressed spouse. The young daughter or son who had fallen for a handsome traveler or sham. Sometimes it was one who simply had something to prove. While being raised behind walls had its advantages, it often came with lethal disadvantages.

Miss Eleanor O’connell fell into the latter situation. A sixteen year old female of a struggling family. Offered work from a friendly traveler that could pay not only for her father's medical needs, but for an opportunity lift her family even just an inch out of their debts. A far better chance at a good life than her job as a fix-it-all mechanic could offer. The appeal wasn’t hard to see after some questions about the families current state.

It seemed to be a simple job. A hired gun. All supplies offered by the employer. Show up to a shady spot, receive an issued weapon and maybe even some armor if you were lucky, and escort a caravan to a designated location and back. A temporary job with a generous offer of four hundred and fifty caps. The high pay alone would have warded off most who knew the wasteland well enough. A high payout typically meant the employer was counting on most of its employees not coming out alive.

The anxious mother had offered a scrap of paper that she had discovered in one of her daughters notebooks detailing the operations need to know details, and frankly the amount of grammar and spelling mistakes made it clear that the caravan wasn’t lead by cleverest bunch. Sadly, not everyone in the wasteland had access to the tools needed to learn how to read or write properly. It didn’t label someone an idiot in his book, but it certainly didn’t offer much comfort either. 

The paper hadn’t offered a location of meet up, that part being torn off. Presumably taken with the young girl. A quick run through of the bartenders in Diamond city turned up a person who knew of the advertised offers, and the lead provided a more complete advertisement. For a fee of course. There was always a fee. 

“Does Eleanor wear any jewelry? Any, er… Distinguishing wears? Something that could maybe help me pick her out in a crowd.” The detectives tone was light and undemanding as he made his inquiries. 

He’d offered that last part as more of a comfort, to ward off any implications that a corpse might be found. Hope was never a bad thing to encourage.

“She was given a necklace when she was a child. Silver, a long chain that is easy to hide. It has the letter E on it, stamped onto a small pendant. Her father made it a few days after she was born. I didn’t find it anywhere in her room... She loves him dearly, I can’t imagine she would ever part with it.”

Nick nodded as he took a short record of this in his notebook. A needless action as there wasn’t too much that he couldn’t recall by memory, but old habits were a comfort. And not only to himself he noticed. Small gestures and more human habits tended to put people at ease. Plus it was good for review once the case closed.

The worn note snapped shut, her statement disappearing into the darkness between the pages. This was a question he asked in every missings person case. Not only for identification purposes, but as proof, in the event the person in question met their end before he could reach them.   
  
Caravanning was undoubtedly dangerous buisness. Between the feral ghouls, the mutated beasts, Raiders, and the natural hazards of terrain, it was common to lose people along the way. Most caravan guards were cold and guarded if they managed to make it far in their trade. Difficult to work with, but knowledgeable. And not opposed to answering a question or two if it meant it could aid in keeping their routes safe.

There were three major Carravan routes that well guarded traders normally took, paths that offered little resistance as far as terrain went, but more dangers due to being well known. Less protected supplies might take a different trek, but this particular group held three other members besides the daughter in question, so he safely assumed they would bold a more common path. 

On the first day of the investigation he’d ventured to Bunker Hill, making good time and questioning a couple Caravans along the way. Neither were very friendly nor offered anything of substance. Bunker Hill itself held its usual charm. Obnoxious sellers, drunkards blowing encounters out of proportions, and a few suspicious types lingering in halls and watching from a distance. None of these people were worth the hassle and time of questioning. There was already a person he had in mind anyhow and it wasn’t long before he found the woman, a log keeper for the posts caravan groups. With any case like this, the grizzled older woman was usually the first person he sought out, and thankfully more info was brought to light as he skimmed through her books and records so graciously offered. It was usually a win win for the both of them, especially when he could send word back on where potentially missing caravans had ended up. Traders were more helpful if it could potentially line their pockets.

The caravan had in fact stopped at the location only a day prior, and had quickly set out again after a brief rest and restock. From here it was intended to reach a small settlement in South Boston in another days time, before returning to Diamond City. The detective set out immediately, feeling a tad more hopeful for the young girls fate. Perhaps the worst in store for her was a firm scolding from her parents and some extra caps. 

The carravan hadn’t even made it six miles out.

One dead and looted Brahmin led the detective to a second further down the road, accompanied by three corpses scattered about. It was quickly obvious that super mutants had been involved, since most of the bodies were mangled and bent almost beyond recognition, and various parts of the Brahmin had been chopped and torn, presumably for food. His eyes scanned the scene, seeing no real planned efforts of defense. They had been ambushed and it was clear the group was inexperienced in holding off the aggressors. One of the Brahmin had broke away in the struggle, presumably the first one he’d found. A closer look at the area showed the ground was frantically disturbed with the impacts of gunfire... Had they been attacked in the night?

The encounter had soaked the ground in settled blood and entrails. Enlarged flys buzzed on a male corpse, and two other males were still untouched by scavengers. The scene seemed fresh though, maybe no more than half a day old. His somber gaze moved to a third corpse a few yards away lying face down. A curved blood trail directed a path straight to her, implying she had crawled an admirable distance before succumbing to her wounds. It looked as if something sharp had sliced open most of her neck and chest. Despite not no longer having skin that bled, the synths empathetic nature still stirred up a ghost like feeling of what it must have been like to suffer so horribly... 

“Mr Valentine,” the woman quickly unchained her door and opened it further, though not all the way, and he tried to put the images of corpse from his mind as his focus returned. “You’ve returned.”

He offered a small nod, a familiar heavy emotion settling over him as he prepared to inform her of the daughters fate.

”I wish I could bring you better news.” His voice came low and he pulled his hand out of his pocket, lifting a single silver chain along with an envelope stained red that he had found in her coat pocket. A only other belonging besides ammo and a knife. Despite the girls lack of hesitation to jump into danger, it seemed she had at least had enough thought to leave something behind. It made it sadder in a way, when he suddenly saw her less as naive and more as desperate. The woman opened the door fully now and reached forward to grasp the chain gingerly, as if touching it would make his words a reality.

It was a horrible thing, watching the horrors of realization set in. The faces were different, but the emotions were always the same, and he watched sadly as she brought it tightly to her chest and turned away just as a sob broke through her chest. The weathered hand of a man appeared to pull her in and coaxed her to a sofa inside the dimly lit room and her anguished cries grew quieter as they retreated. The Detective stood there patiently as the husband wiped his own eyes and slowly ambled to the door, a cane in hand.

“The Caravan was ambushed on its way back.” He informed him quietly, making his words slow in case the man chose to silence him. He said nothing though, so the synth continued. Despite never needing rest, his voice was tired as he described what he’d found. “From what I could tell it might have been super mutants. No one survived. By the looks of it it seemed like it all happened pretty fast, not enough time to react. I employed a scout to retrieve the remains, he should be arriving within the next few hours. I know this is a lot on your shoulders right now, so I’ve already paid the man for the job. There will be no fee when you meet with him.”

The man only nodded and Nick pulled out a slip of paper with the mentioned associates information, offering it to the silent man. His demeanor was a stark contrast to the woeful sobs in the background, save for the glassy red eyes. Nick suspected that he long knew his daughters fate.

“When you are ready, you’ll find him here. I’m deeply sorry to both of you for this loss. I wish I could have done more.”

The man folded the paper with another nod, his lips pressed into a firm line.

”I told her too many stories, about my days outside the city. She only wanted to ease the suffering of our past mistakes,” he spoke finally, and the crack in his voice made the old detectives metaphorical heart heavy. His words came again, short but with a clear weight. “This world was never meant for children. We didn’t deserve her, “ he held out a small pouch, and the familiar jingle of caps was heard. A fee had not been discussed yet, but it seemed the man was prepared anyhow. “For your efforts. We are grateful you could bring us a part of her.”

A familiar scolding voice arose in the back of his mind, one that coincidently sounded a lot like his secretary... Well. Maybe not so coincidently.

_”Mr. Valentine if you turn down one more payment I might just have to start coming along with you and twisting some arms. You may not need much, Mr. I don’t have to eat or drink or sleep, but I certainly do, and if we get shut down and I die of starvation, well I’ll be sure to haunt you from the great beyond...”_

... Ellie did always have a thing for dramatics.

“Sir, I really can’t accept-“ he held a hand up as emphasis.

”Please,” the man cut him off firmly and all but shoved it into his hand, “I cannot bear to offer nothing. Good night Detective.”  
  
The Case of the Missing Caravan Guard ended with a softly shut door and muffled sobs. A bitter end to a bitter story. As it was with most stories in the commonwealth. 

The orange glow of a cigarette accompanied the synth as he walked down the alley towards his office. What was left of his right hand only slightly processed the cold. These sensors relayed enough information to detect when tempetures were dangerously low or high, while mellower readings were mostly unnoticeable. Still, even with the battered prototype body that was still his, it wasn’t hard to tell the wind was picking up, the nights growing colder as the twisted seasons of the wastes changed. 

Nick Valentine didn’t like the cold. At least, he didn’t when he was flesh and bone. Even now he still felt the same. The cold felt... isolating. A lack of sensations didn’t stop him from sheltering his hands in his pockets as he paced with his hat uncharacteristically low. Nick Valentine was also usually the type to offer a passing greeting to those who kindly regarded him as a fellow citizen, even to the bots that ran the shops in the heart of the town. But tonight he had only walked, and the closer he drew to his office the more preferred to keep walking rather than confine himself to such a small dim space. The paperwork wouldn’t write itself though, and by the time this point had crossed his synthetic mind he figured he might as well now that the door was now right in front of him. The key turned smoothly without sound in the lock and the synth came to a standstill, a stillness that only one not of flesh could assume.

Ellie always locked the door. Sunday’s were her one of her days off, and as much as she didn’t mind working overtime she rarely came into the office on a day off. Especially nowadays when her mind was only on that of her new fiancé. A simple but kind young lad who worked as a guard outside the walls. 

He paused a few seconds longer to listen before pushing the door open in a manner that was meant to come off as unknowing and he strolled into the dark room and shut the door quietly, hanging the keys on a hook near the door. His arm stayed stiffly near his hip as he cautiously walked toward his desk and he turned on a single lamp in the desk. Green tinted light filled the area and only silence was heard. He paced back towards the door, halfway up the stairs to the small second floor, and then stood near the desk quietly, seeing no obvious cause for alarm. His suspicious nature was quickly quelled and he rounded the desk, ready to rest for a moment and think. 

Maybe he would have to have a talk with Ellie about locking the door. It seemed odd though since it was a never an issue in the past. Sharp as a tack that one, and very insistent on her rituals. But he brushed the instance aside, his mind far too preoccupied. Yellow optics moved over the files splayed out on his desk, looking up at him expectantly as they waited to be opened and he raised a hand to his tie and began to loosen it as he sat, purely a habit in itself whenever the day winded down.

The synth had barely began to sit when a sudden knock at the door broke the silence. He paused, not offering any evidence that he was home. A second set of more demanding knocks was heard and he straightened back up with a weary sigh and readjusted his tie. It seemed the night wasn’t done with him yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be working on other fics.
> 
> Mental health and my inability to focus on anything for more than three seconds says otherwise.


End file.
